"Did he give you no name, Alan?"
"None."
"Whence did he come? Whither did he go?"
"He came out of the shadow, and into the shadow he went."
Ynys looked steadfastly at her husband; her wistful gaze searching deep into his unquiet eyes, and thence from feature to feature of the face which had become strangely worn, for all the joy that lay between them.
But she said no more upon what he had told her.
"I, too, Alan mo rùn, have heard a strange thing to-day. You know old Marsail Macrae? She is ill now with a slow fever, and she thinks that the shadow which she saw lying upon her hearth last Sabbath, when nothing was there to cause any shadow, was her own death, come for her, and now waiting there. I spoke to the old woman comfortingly, but she would not have peace, and her eyes looked at me strangely.
"'What is it, Marsail?' I asked at last. To which she replied mysteriously:
"'Ay, ay, for sure, it was I who saw you first.'